How to be a Hero
by Pendergreen
Summary: Becky Rosen never really grew up. Until the angels fell, and suddenly Sam's stalker is forced to put her own hang ups on hold for the sake of someone who is in need. No pairings


It seemed like a hundred years since she had been writing slash fiction. All of her had been poured into wincest in those days. It was just her keyboard and her. Sam and Dean had been her escape.

Then Chuck told her they were real.

Meeting them had been better than a dream. Sam was all she had imagined him to be. So charming. And smart. And firm… Too bad even fictional characters didn't want her.

No matter how much she had wanted him to; Sam Winchester wasn't going to fall in love with her.

So much had happened since then.

She had dated Chuck, helped the boys find the colt, drugged Sam in a crazy attempt to win his heart, stopped a rogue crossroads demon, and all that had led her to this.

She tugged her fuzzy pink bathrobe tighter around her, as she fumbled blearily for her hot chocolate. The living room was dark except for the dim glow of her laptop. Quiet blanketed her cottage like the pristine snow that covered the roof, but this was only a temporary arrangement. At any moment the calm could be shattered, and she would have to run leaving her writing behind.

She took a sip of her no longer very hot chocolate, and glanced around her desk checking for her notes. She found the outline buried under the wrappers of the shared snack of off brand rice crispy treats before bedtime. Her heart warmed at the fresh memory of chewy sweets, being a responsible grown up and trying out her 'Mom Voice', of a bedtime story, plush toys found, and sleepy 'goodnights' and a hushed "I love you, Mama." in a slurred little voice.

Her fingers flew over the keys, the words just flowing out. Her years writing fan fiction had done their work. This was her second novel since she had started doing her own original work. She wasn't nearly a best seller, but she couldn't bank solely on Supernatural sales forever.

She froze. Listening intently in a way she had only learned lately. It was only the wind. She breathed a sigh of relief, but saved her work anyway.

It was 3:30 in the morning, long past time to call it a night.

With her computer powered down she tiptoed to the sink to dispose of the remnants of her drink. Groaning to find that she'd used his most favorite cup. She promised herself she'd wash it in the morning, but she wasn't going to put money on it. By the time breakfast rolled around she would be too busy to bother with dishes. The grocery list was more pressing than the small but growing pileup in the sink. Still it was good to be positive. After all dreams, in her experience, could come true.

Becky crept down the hall as softly as she could. Her bed was calling out to her, and at quarter to four a few hours cocooned in her comforter was almost as sexy as Sam Winchester's broad, toned shoulders... Almost. Nothing was as... Except maybe his butt. Becky had to take a deep calming breath to suppress a series of squeaks and giggles trying to erupt from her. Normally she would just let it out. She wasn't ashamed of being passionate or excitable quite the contrary, but it was so late and she didn't want to wake up Cassie.

She hadn't been planning on it, but she peeked in anyhow. She'd never get to sleep without knowing her baby was safe, asleep, tucked in warmly… that he still had his stuffed friend, the fat sheep-y.

She stood in the doorway. Just watching. She'd never make it in without waking him.

She shivered.

Cold.

She knew she should go to bed, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the rise and fall off his breathing. Watching him sleep was a mixed bag. On one hand she got to marvel at how small he was and appreciate that he was hers, but seeing him unmasked... Balled up in the fetal position was heart-wrenching. In his sleep she couldn't just say "it's all going to be okay." In his sleep he was alone with his guilt and fear, and there was nothing she could really do about it.

She was about to turn and go when a soft whimper caught her ear and stayed her place. He called out to her. His voice was crackly from sleep and plaintive from nightmares.

Falling again.

Becky crossed his room carefully not to step on his things. She knew she should try harder to get him to clean up after himself, but he had much bigger things to worry about than... Ouch... Whatever she had stepped on.

She climbed into his bed, and pulled him close. He was trembling, but he wouldn't want talk about it now. She held him tight, and stroked his pale hair wondering at its downy softness not for the first time. In turn he buried his tiny shaking frame into her arms.

"It's okay, Cassie, I gotcha." she whispered against the darkness.

He looked up at her his sleepy brown eyes retelling volumes of hurt, his cheeks wet.

She pressed a kiss to his forehead, it was damp. She wished she could take him to therapy or something, but she couldn't even imagine where to find a doctor who wouldn't toss them both in to institutional care. If she told a mental health professional what had happened Cassie's PTSD would not even register.

It registered to her. Even if it was a choked out half sob barely a whisper "Danny."

She sat quietly for a few moments just rubbing his back. Letting her little boy catch his breath. Waiting for him to know he was awake. To know he was safe in his room. To know that she was here and she would not let him fall. "Do you want to come sleep in my bed tonight?" she mumbled into his hair. She felt him nod against her chest.

Climbing out of his bed she noted with relief that the sheets were dry tonight, they weren't always.

He sat up, but made no effort to move further. His face was pained and distant. She thought the dam might break and the sobbing would start again. Carefully and slowly she lifted him up. He was a little heavier than he looked, but she could manage to carry him down the hall... She knew from experience. He was weak and limp tonight; she wasn't convinced that was an improvement over tense and volatile. Still at least he wouldn't hurt her like this. Two weeks ago he had lost it... The bruises still hadn't faded.

She made it out of his room safely, managing to avoid the Lego he had left on the floor. The blocks made her crack a smile. Lego was a sign of a good day. He only played with them when he was feeling alright. Good days were becoming a more regular thing. Nights were still rough. Cassie didn't like the dark. It had been nighttime when they had fallen.

Becky glanced at her clock when they made it into her room and sighed it was four a.m. now. She was slowly learning to cope with the Sam and Dean sleep schedule, but it wasn't coming easy. Setting his small frame gently on her bed she smiled at him.

For years she had wanted Sam to be the man in her life, and she had fantasized about it and rehearsed her part without end.

As it turned out... if it was always meant to be Cassie... That would be okay.

She crawled in and tugged the comforter up over them. He snuggled in close, and she could smell the cherry kid's shampoo she used for his bath a few hours earlier when he had been having a good day.

She stroked his forehead gently and hummed 'wake me up' as best as she could. She kind of wished it was 'Hey Jude', but Cassie was firmly a pop station addict no matter how much she tried to limit her car radio to classic rock.

Slowly over the course of a Half hour his breathing steadied, and she knew he had fallen asleep.

Now it remained for her to try and grab two or three hours of sleep.


End file.
